


To the Victor

by novemberlite



Category: Merlin - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Canon, Bondage, Drama, Dubious Consent, M/M, Porn, Sexual Slavery, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-20
Updated: 2012-04-20
Packaged: 2017-11-03 23:47:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/387309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/novemberlite/pseuds/novemberlite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Arthur's the victor, and Merlin's the spoils. ...right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	To the Victor

**Author's Note:**

> ty to marguerite_26 for the cheerleading, as per usual.

A cut high on Arthur's cheek stung as he surveyed his spoils: a dozen ragged men and a supply of grains that wouldn't last them the winter. It had barely been worth stopping for, but for a tiny smudge of a village with more women and children than weapons, Ealdor had put up quite the fight. Arthur wasn't entirely sure how his men came to be as battered as they were, or what the mutinous looks on the faces of the villagers meant, but night fell hours ago and he was too worn to question it. 

"Leave the women," he said, and tried not to be unsettled by the utter lack of relief on the dirty faces in front of him. "We will take two more men in their stead." They had several shackled already, the most able-bodied and healthy, but there was always room for more. Arthur nodded at a broad shouldered man with a gimp leg in the back—useless in the fields, but there was more to a slave's worth—and a young man with a ruddy face and furious eyes, who squared his shoulders when Arthur's knights approached.

"Wait!" came a voice, and again, "--wait--" and it took a moment for Arthur to find who had spoken: a reed thin, wisp of a man, tall enough to make Arthur wonder why he hadn't noticed him before. It wasn't until he came forward, stepped past the knights and looked right at him that Arthur realized he was more of a boy, still wide-eyed and supple-skinned. "Take me, instead," he said, and breath hitched somewhere in Arthur's chest before he could remind himself of what that didn't mean.

"You're of no use to me," Arthur said after a beat, and tried not to trace the wide bow of the boy's mouth with his eyes. "A good wind would blow you away.”

“I’m stronger than I look,” said the boy, and Arthur could hear the knights scoff in amusement. The boy ducked his head, bashful, and heat crept up the back of Arthur’s neck. “I’m skilled, and I’m willing. I won’t make a fuss, but _he_ —“ head tilted to indicate the man Arthur had chosen, “—he’ll never stop fighting you.”

“I know how to break a man,” Arthur said, and the boy glanced up, eyes dark. 

“Broken things are hard to use.” 

“Sire—“ said a knight, voice edged with annoyance and backed by the impatient shuffle of horses, but he fell silent when Arthur shook his head. The boy’s gaze didn’t flicker from his and it took Arthur a troubling amount of effort to look away, back to the villagers and their curiously blank faces. Something uneasy pricked the back of Arthur’s neck—the itch he felt right before he whirled to meet the edge of a blade—but this was no battle, and these weary, beaten folk were no threat to him.

“Take him,” Arthur said, and pushed the feeling away.

* * *

It was impossible to navigate the forest in the dark, so they set up camp along the tree line. A tent was hauled up for Arthur, and a bonfire lit for the knights to gather around. The slaves were chained by the horses, close enough to the fire that they wouldn’t freeze, but they huddled together anyway, dirty heads bowed.

They were an odd bunch. Usually the slaves chattered, voices lowered to frightened, sometimes righteous whispers, but these men kept silent and still; some were asleep already, heads lolling onto each other’s shoulders, something disturbingly like ease on their slack faces. 

Arthur stared at the fire and frowned. 

“Sire?” A hand entered his vision, followed by Leon’s face. “Is something the matter?”

“No,” Arthur said, and then shook his head. “Just, those slaves. Do you find anything—odd about them?”

“Other than how you can’t bring yourself to look away? No.”

Arthur sighed. “Leon—“

“But then, I often find your choice in bedmates odd, Sire.” 

“That isn’t what I meant,” Arthur said, but his eyes strayed back to the slaves anyway, to the boy sat at the fringe. He was whispering to the horses, stroking their flanks with his bound hands. The flickering light from the fire made him alien, beautiful. “There’s something else.” 

“They are unusually complacent,” Leon said, turning serious. “But they have lived under Cenred’s rule their entire lives. They’re likely glad to be free of him.”

Arthur snorted, and Leon laughed. 

“Yes, poor choice of words, I concede. But you know my meaning.”

“I do,” Arthur said, “that must be it,” because what else could it be? It was only a few hours till dawn, and fewer still to Camelot; his men were beginning to lay out their bedrolls, groaning and stretching, and Arthur risked another glance just as the boy lifted his head. 

The fire turned his eyes gold. Arthur’s breath caught, and held.

“You could have him tonight,” Leon said softly. “Indulge. No one would fault you, Sire.”

“Not where they could be heard,” Arthur said, “no.”

“Not at all,” Leon said, low. “You know our vices as well as we know yours.”

“A Prince has no vices.” 

“And the King?” 

Arthur turned to find Leon’s mouth pressed flat. His eyes cut away and head bowed at the look on Arthur’s face, fully aware of his transgression. To think ill of the King was common; to voice it, treason.

“I am not yet King,” Arthur said, because Leon had been his right hand since he had first learned to wield a sword, and because he wasn’t wrong. The boy had dropped back on the grass, knees up and eyes on the stars, and Arthur’s blood warmed. “We ride at first light. There isn’t much time.”

“Of course, Sire,” Leon said, proper and deferential, and made to move away. Arthur grabbed his arm before he could, eyes locked on the boy. 

“So bring him to me quickly.”

* * *

Arthur’s tent was lit by a lone lantern and the filtered light from the fire outside. It thrust the boy into the shadows, but Arthur could imagine the colour of his mouth—the angry, mottled bruises he would leave on his skin.

“You know why you’re here,” Arthur said, more of a way to fill the silence than anything else. The boy hadn’t moved from where Leon had left him, hands held loose by his sides. The tunic he wore looked old, but clean, and his feet were bare.

“I please you,” he said, as if he’d read Arthur’s mind.

“You will,” Arthur corrected, and the boy’s toes curled. Arthur felt as if he’d been ignited; there was thick fur under his palms to ward against the chilly night, but he was hot all over, sweat beading on his temples and upper lip, prickling along his back. His cock throbbed plaintively in his breeches, sticky wet at the tip, and the boy was too far away. “Come here,” he said, and when he was close enough to touch, “bare yourself.”

The boy gripped the hem of his tunic and lifted it over his head, left Arthur spoiled by the sight of so much skin: the tender span of his stomach and cage of his ribs, tiny pebbled nipples and soft hair under his arms. He shimmied out of his breeches gracelessly and kicked them aside, stood there shivering and covered in gooseflesh, soft cock a perfect handful, until Arthur reached out.

His cold skin warmed under Arthur’s hands, and his cock filled with blood. Arthur pulled him down and put his teeth to the boy’s neck, slid both hands up his trembling legs, until wiry hair gave way to soft, damp skin. 

“Do you know how?” Arthur asked against the hollow of his throat. “Have you pleased a man before?”

“No,” said the boy, and shifted on Arthur’s lap, thighs tight and tense, breath coming faster.

“No,” Arthur murmured, “not even the one you were so keen to save?” and pulled back enough to see the boy's eyes flash, there and gone in a blink, like a trick of the light. His mouth was a wet, open o, pliant and slack when Arthur crushed it to his. Arthur took him leisurely, sucked on his tongue and bit at his fat lower lip until it was swollen and hot to the touch. By the time he pulled away the boy's cock had begun to leak, slit pulsing open around sticky strings of precome.

"We've kissed," he said, sounding dazed, and it took Arthur a moment to realize what he meant, a hot flush of not-quite arousal rising in him at the thought of it. "But only the once. And we've--he--" 

"What?" Arthur prompted, but the boy only shook his head, overwhelmed. "He's touched you, then. Here," said Arthur, curling a hand around the boy's cock and tugging harder than he should, faster, like there was something to prove. "Pulled you off, has he?"

“Put his fingers in me,” the boy managed to say, and made it sound like a challenge—made Arthur’s hand tighten on his cock until he made a high, sharp noise, loud enough to alert the knights outside. Arthur knew they would be listening for it, half asleep and still too curious about how their Prince found his pleasure with men, but he couldn’t think about that now, couldn’t worry while he had this wild young thing in his grip, at his command. 

“His fingers,” Arthur said, coating his own in oil and tucking them against the boy’s tight, flinching hole, “—and his prick—“

“No,” the boy gasped as Arthur forced a finger inside, “I didn’t let him, it—it hurt too badly,” and whined when Arthur pushed in another, right up until the knuckle. 

"Can't imagine he liked that," Arthur said, and twisted his fingers, knowing he wouldn't be able to stop now, not for the world. The boy shook his head, sweaty curls falling into his eyes, and there was just _something_ \--something about him-- "No lover of yours, then. So why," Arthur said, fisting a hand in his hair and yanking his head back, "why would you trade your freedom for his?"

The boy panted, eyes heavy. "What--" he whined, everything about him tempting, from the clutch of his arse to the moue of his mouth, but the last time Arthur had ignored the twist in his gut, he'd nearly gotten his arm severed clean off. So he tightened his grip and made the boy still, looked at him in the eye, and snarled,

"You're hiding something. What is it?" 

The boy looked at him with wide eyes, plaintive and confused, and Arthur had a split second to doubt himself, just the one, before his face broke into a grin and his eyes flashed a mad, hungry gold. 

And Arthur found himself flat on his back, all the startled breath knocked right out of him.

“Sorcerer,” he wanted to shout, but it came out a gasp, his chest compressed under some invisible weight, wrists suddenly locked above his head. His sword was an arm’s reach away, never farther, but it took effort even to blink, to narrow his eyes at the vision of the boy rising above him. His eyes were wild and mouth still twisted in pleasure and it—transformed him, turned him from lovely and fey into something provocative and dangerous, something that had Arthur’s insides clenching in reaction.

"Prince Arthur," he said, and he even sounded different, voice deeper, not so much a boy after all. "You turned out cleverer than I thought you'd be."

"And you far more _stupid_ ," Arthur spat. "I would see you hanged for this." 

The boy laughed, throaty and genuinely amused, hands spread on Arthur's chest and eyes still gold. "You and countless other raiders, Prince. No one's managed it yet."

Arthur bared his teeth. "I have only to yell, and you'll be ripped apart."

"But you won't yell." The boy looked obscenely pleased with himself, or perhaps just obscene: his cock was still hard, leaking diligently at the tip and bobbing under its own weight; his mouth bruised with kisses; his hips rocking to some unconscious rhythm. "Because then your loyal knights would know you were bested by a slave," he said, pulling Arthur’s cock out of his breeches and gripping it tight, "and the will of your--" twisting, "--selfish--" squeezing, "-- _prick._ "

Arthur bit the inside of his cheek and tried to speak through the fury choking him. “Are you certain enough to bet your life on it?”

The boy tilted his head and dug a nail into the slit of Arthur’s cock. “Yes,” he said, lazy. “You’re terribly transparent.” He gave a toothy grin at the look on Arthur’s face. “Though far more observant than the rest of them, I’ll give you that.”

Arthur hissed a breath through his nose. “The rest of them.”

“The men who come into our village and try to take what isn’t theirs,” said the boy, eyes hard despite the easy smile on his face. Arthur’s cock slapped wetly against his stomach when the boy released it to crawl up higher over his body, until his knees were hooked under Arthur’s arms. “We get more than our fair share, and I—make sure they get theirs.”

“You—“ Arthur laughed, hoarse. “You play the innocent. The _virgin._ ” 

“They see what they want to see.” The boy leaned forward so that his cock hovered inches from Arthur’s face, gripped it in one hand so a string of precome bobbed precariously over his mouth. “Though I’m no virgin,” he said, cheerful, “I lie about that,” and slapped Arthur’s cheek with his cock. 

A noise tore from Arthur, a short grunt of pure outrage, and it made the boy laugh, delighted. He dragged the sticky head of his cock across Arthur’s nose and chin before slapping him again, the sound of it wet and fleshy. There wasn’t enough force behind it to sting, but it made Arthur’s face burn anyway, livid and itching for his sword, for his hands, so he could wrap them around the boy’s long, tempting throat and _squeeze._

The head of his cock tapped against the corner of Arthur’s mouth, then right at the centre, pressing enough to part his lips and touch the hot, sensitive flesh on the inside, the gritted ridge of his teeth. The boy’s eyes were lidded, something that Arthur would recognize as arousal on anyone else making him pant. He met Arthur’s eyes and teased, 

“Oh, Prince. Do you know how?”

Arthur bared his teeth and the boy pulled his cock away quickly, still breathless from laughter. “No?” He pouted. “No one’s taught you how to please a man?”

“Enough,” Arthur rasped, shoulders aching from pulling against magical bonds, traitorous cock still throbbing desperately against his stomach. “Finish it,” because the worst this boy could do was lay a blow to his head; as wily as he was, there wasn’t any way he would risk the blood of a Crown Prince on his hands. “Or do you intend to crow until sunrise?”

“Tempting,” said the boy, squirming back down Arthur’s body, until he was sitting astride his hips, curve of his arse fitted against Arthur’s aching cock. “But no. I intend to fuck you, instead.”

Arthur’s breath hitched against his will, and the boy wrapped a slick hand around Arthur’s cock and gave it a good, long pull. “Consider yourself special,” he said, holding it steady and nudging it right up against his hole, rubbing it there, teasing, “usually I just leave them bloody,” and sank all the way down to the root, sat himself on Arthur’s cock like the virgin he wasn’t. 

He was as tight as he’d been on Arthur’s fingers—tighter—and it made Arthur’s balls draw up, entire body buzzing with want. Blood pounded at his temples, his throat, his wrists and his cock, or maybe that was the easy, rhythmic clench of the boy’s arse, the way he’d begun to move, in quick, short bursts. 

“Why,” Arthur managed to gasp out, because he had to know, even in the middle of all this, even seconds away from coming as he was, and the boy paused in his bouncing to look at him, speculative.

“Your pretty cock,” he said finally, mouth stretched into a smirk, “and how you didn’t hurt me when you could have.”

“I want to hurt you now,” Arthur confessed, because between fucking him and fucking him harder, there was nothing he wanted more. The boy leaned in so his cock was rubbing insistently over Arthur’s stomach and their faces were a hair’s breadth apart. 

“Missed your chance,” he said, and kissed him, licked at the tacky precome drying on Arthur’s lips and then licked his way inside. Arthur bit his tongue, rough enough to make him pull away with a huff.

“There will be other chances,” Arthur promised, and narrowed his eyes at the boy’s laugh. “Or don’t you think I’ll come after you?”

“You could do,” sighed the boy. “The risks I take by letting you live.” His hips were moving in slow, agonizing circles, which turned into a shallow rise and fall when he drew upright. It wasn’t enough to make Arthur come: he wanted in deep, hard and fast, but this was making the boy shiver, clinch his eyes shut and tense his thighs; drop a hand down to palm his cock while the other kneaded weakly at Arthur’s chest, scratched through the spare hair. “But you won’t find me.”

It was hard to breathe, and Arthur couldn’t think. “Sure of yourself.”

“Very.” The boy was stripping his cock now, pulling at himself as roughly as Arthur had done, so fast it had to hurt a little. “You won’t find any of us. For how long do you think can a Prince be allowed to chase after a slave?”

“No one _allows_ me anything,” Arthur snarled, and the boy laughed at his lie just before he came, spilling himself all over Arthur, splattering hot seed on his chest and throat. His arse screwed down tight, contracting with each pulse of his orgasm, and Arthur could feel his own building, rising, but the boy pulled away before it could crest, easing himself off of Arthur’s red, tender cock with a little sigh.

“Mm,” he said, and ran a finger through a puddle of his own come while Arthur gaped, drew it down the side of Arthur’s face and smiled in satisfaction. “Something to remember me by,” he said, and Arthur’s cock throbbed unhappily, the chill of the night settling back onto his body as the boy stood and squirmed into his clothes. 

Fully dressed, he gave Arthur a look from beneath his lashes, that first shy glance that had him tripping over himself, and Arthur couldn’t keep from snarling at his coy little smile, his still bare feet. 

“Run fast,” he hissed, threat and promise both, and the boy’s eyes widened before they creased into a grin and he stepped outside—left Arthur lying there, hands still hooked above his head and bound to the floor, aching for release.

He didn’t know when the bonds began to ease, but he was still hard, mind whirring and body plaintive. The ones around his wrists went first, then the ones around his feet, and Arthur knew if he had any hope of catching him—and the other slaves he surely took with him—he needed to act now; rouse the camp and set out a search party in every direction, scour the forest before something eroded their tracks. 

They had a few hours—half a day at the most—and no time to waste.

Arthur cursed under his breath and reached for his cock instead.

 

fin


End file.
